


Oceans Away side stories

by Rickylee



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Multi, Oral, Pirate AU, Spanking, go read oceans away for more clarity, teting the waters so to speak, this wont make much sense if you only read this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3625302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rickylee/pseuds/Rickylee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just some tid bits from Oceans Away (ya'll should totes go read it). little things that won't fit into the story and scenes from different peoples' pov etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As Long As I Can Remeber

**Author's Note:**

> Bertholdt

As long as I can remember, all I had was my mother. She was my whole world. Mother was all I had. Sure I had a father, but he left long ago. No explanation – or maybe there was and I was too young to understand. He was always so nervous and distant around me. He probably didn’t like having a “brown boy” for a son. He loved my mother though, he just didn’t love me.

Father ran back to his home country Germany with a wave, a kiss, and a ‘be back soon’. That was eighteen years ago.

Now my whole world is being burned before my eyes. Twenty two, a grown man, still too young to watch his mother’s corpse dissolve into ashes. The stench of cooking human flesh clogging my nose; the ashes from the fire flutter like the snow I’ve never seen onto my dark skin.

She fell down the stairs. That’s what the old woman who lives in the rooms bellow us (just me now) said. I believe her, it was about the time of day mother took the laundry to the Ganges to wash them. She always had trouble carrying the heavy basket down the stairs alone. She usually waits for me to come home for the midday meal to help her so I can carry it down for her. Those stairs are worn with possibly a hundred years or more of wear with no railing guides your way down, and they’re slippery when wet.

The stairs weren’t wet, at least not when I arrived home a little later than usual.

I was working at the docks when it happened – I suppose. The Europeans pay us little but enough to keep us coming. We fix their ships, build their furniture, and become their translators; anything to get the money we need to survive. Despite the racial slurs and the teasing, sometimes some rather… sexual favors I have no interest in, I enjoy the work. Working with my hands; creating something out of seemingly nothing gives me great joy.

Just wish the people I work for weren’t such assholes.

There was blood drying on the white stone, clothes were scattered, the basket was still there when I got home. I knew it was her. Who else could it have been? She was the only laundry mistress on this street.

The old woman – I don’t even know her name. Never been aware of her enough to bother – gave me such a sad look. Her brown wrinkled face sagging in a way that had nothing to do with her age.

“Come here Bertholdt.” She beckoned. “There’s been an accident.”

“I know.”

I didn’t cry. I’m not crying now.

Mother had just enough money saved up for me to give her a proper funeral. (I’m sure that money wasn’t for her funeral though). A communal burning for the people like me who are too poor to afford a private pyre. The money I saved from my own carpentry job will only be able to pay the landlord and food for maybe a week. Carpentry doesn’t pay nearly enough. But… but with the money I have now, I can… I can _leave._

There’s nothing for me here. I can’t stay. What else can I do? I won’t stay.

My whole world is on that pyre. I miss her already. I can feel the first tears of possibly many slide down my cheeks.

I should let my father know she has passed. He has the right to know. I don’t know how to write German, I can’t even read my own language. I only know how to spell my name, in English. Beside, letters are so impersonal. I know enough German to get by, at least father taught me some before he left us. I’m adept in English, can he speak English?

More tears spill, this time they slide down and off my chin.

Father should know. Yeah. I’ll go and tell him.

The old woman gently takes hold of my elbow. I don’t hear her praying over my mother’s corpse, wishing her the best I her next life. Eventually she shakes my arm. I blink tasting salt.

“Come child.” She says.

“Okay.” What else can I do? My voice cracks. One last glance at mother. I can’t even tell which bones are hers anymore.

A feeling of emptiness settles within me. The empty house is cold and so silent it screams. I’ve picked up the clothes that were left scattered around the blood. Lots were stolen, even the basket. I have no use for them, I am a man. They lay in a neat pile.

I keep waiting for her soft voice to ask me how my day was. Why my elbow is bleeding (brushed it against an exposed nail at work this morning). _Eat Bertholdt, you’re too thin_ , she would be scolding me. Everything tastes like ash.

Falling down the stairs. What a stupid way to die.

All of mother’s clothes are gathered. The old woman offered to help me sell them at the bazaar tomorrow. I sob into mother’s favorite sari. I don’t think I’ve cried this hard in my life.

“Tomorrow then. Sleep boy.” The old woman pats my shoulder and leaves to her husband. I didn’t even know she had a husband.

I resolve to keep this one. The rest will hopefully get me enough money to book passage to Germany by ship.

* * *

She comes for me midday. I’m still in bed clutching mother’s sari like a life line. She’s patient with me, helps me fold the clothes and set up my own little stall in the market.

It hurts more than it should to watch each brightly colored fabric bought. But it has to be done, I need the money, I have no use for woman’s clothes. I have no wife or daughters and the dead don’t wear clothes. For the first time in my life, I wish I was a woman. Then I’d have an excuse to keep the clothing, I’d be married with sons or daughters of my own by now, I’d be taken care of.

Immediately after the last sari was sold I grabbed the money and the bag I packed earlier and headed for the docks in a near trot. I know there’s a ship bound for Europe. I replaced a window in the captain’s cabin yesterday morning. It was why I was so late to help mother with the laundry. His German was hard to understand, I think he might have been drunk, but I understood enough to get the job done.

I’m in luck, they haven’t left yet. Thank the gods. Captain Hannes stands by the gang plank directing traffic on and off his ship while he sips from a silver flask while he thinks no one is looking.

“Herr Hannes!” I jog up to him, I get looks. He doesn’t seem to hear me. Hannes is an average height man, blond hair – bleached by the sun – and cut short, close to his head as his hair is rather curly. Whisky colored eyes always seem to dance in mirth or maybe in a constant state of tipsiness. The tiny smile never seems to leave his face either. He’s older – maybe in his early forties, maybe younger. Sailing adds years to the face with all that stress and sun. “I was wondering… are you going to Germany? I must have passage there. Please.” I use English, I’m better at it and I know Hannes can speak it.

“You got money?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Enough to get you to Germany?”

“... I don’t know. Most likely not.”

“How much?” he takes another sip, the flask is empty, he sighs in disappointment.

“How much are you charging passengers?” I ask him instead.

Hannes observes me with strange eyes. I’m about to leave, find another boat that’s cheaper or _something_ when Hannes finally speaks. “Aren’t you that kid who fixed my window?” I nod. “Hm.” He holds his chin in what I assume is a thinking posture. “You seem like a good kid… a hard worker… honest…” he taps his chin, he needs a shave. I probably do too. And a bath. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll hire you on as assistant carpenter to help pay for your fare. Deal?” Hannes holds out his hand.

What else can I do? “Deal.” I shake his hand.

* * *

The only time I’ve ever been on an ocean fairing ship was when they had been docked. It had been easy to balance then – as they don’t move much in the bays – it was still pretty easy to balance now in the open waters. I anticipated racial jeers and segregation. I did not however anticipate how many people got sick, or the fact that no one made any especially rude comments to me.

After a few hours, I thought I was in the clear. I thought I wasn’t going to get sick.

I was wrong. So, so wrong. I’ve never been so sick in my _life_.

Being so sick I don’t even remember much of what went on. Captain Hannes said I was sick for three days then suddenly was not. _‘Sea sickness will do that, if you’re lucky you won’t get it ever again.’_ He explained.

There were many who did not bounce back as well as I did.

* * *

It took six months to get to Germany. Six long month of my patience wearing thin answering all these white people’s questions. “Why are you so brown?” I’m brown because I’m half Indian. “Half!? What’s the other half?” German. I get many sneers. I don’t know much about that part of me, but people act as if they’re horrible people. They do realize their captain is German don’t they? “What’s with the dress?” it’s not a dress it’s a type of long tunic called a kurta. “You don’t eat meat!” I don’t eat meat because it’s part of my religion, please respect that. More sneers and jeers. “Ya worship that one freaky god with them tits right?” I don’t even bother answering that question.

I realized when Hannes docked his ship (the _Passenger)_ that I didn’t know where my father lived. Germany is a big country, he could be anywhere. Luckily, I found letters tucked in a locked drawer back home – that I don’t understand and had no idea my mother could read – that had been sent by my father. I know numbers, so I know the last letter is from about two years ago. Why send letters if you’re never coming back? Why stop them? Why? What do the letters say? Do they mention me? Did she ever write back? I’m starting to hate him.

Anyway, it took me nearly three months into the journey to Europe to ask Hannes what the address said on one of the letters. It’s not that I’m shy… I just have a hard time asking people to do things for me. I’d rather just follow another person I guess. Luck was on my side again as it was the very town Hannes planned to dock in. I don’t know the town’s name, he never bothered to tell me, no matter I don’t plan on staying there anyway.

“Will you be staying here?” Captain Hannes asks, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“Most likely not.” We’re speaking German, I need the practice, especially now that I’m here.

“We’ll be staying a night or two. Europe is not a place to be right now.” He says cryptically. As I leave the ship he tells me not to touch anyone. Strange.

This is a city right? Where are the people? The entire place is as silent as the grave. Dozens of charred remains of buildings make my heart pound. What happened here? Were they attacked? Did an animal kick over a lantern? No… these burnings are too systematic. There are entire blocks reduced to cinders, one or two houses remain intact just a little blacker. The few people on the streets are dirty and coughing. They root through the rumble like diseased vultures. I stay clear of them.

I will be glad to leave this place. It smells. The air is uncomfortable. It’s not like my father wanted me in the first place. He left because of me, because I exist. I refuse to stay in the same country as him any longer than I have to.

If the directions I received from a sailor native here, this blackened street should be his home; there’s only one intact place in the entire block. This has to be it… or it could be the house to the left, right, behind me… What if this house isn’t my father? Why would he need such a big house? What if he doesn’t recognize me, it’s been nearly two decades.

Sweat starts to bead down my back even though it’s quite chilly. Hannes mentioned Europe will be entering winter soon. This climate doesn’t suit me; too cold, too light in atmosphere. I’m used to the hot, humid air that feels almost heavy at times.

Laughter bubbling from the house jars me from my discomfort. There seems to be a buzz coming from inside in the house.

I can’t do this. That laughter was that of a child. It’s the wrong house. My father is either dead or moved on. This was stupid anyway, why would he even care? He left us. Left me. I looked up to him, he was my _father_.

I turn away, intent on leaving. Hannes will be returning to India, I’ll just go home. Live out my life in peace. Maybe marry a nice woman from my cast. Sire some children. My father is as good as dead to me. I could be a better father. One that doesn’t leave.

But _why_ did he leave? Mother was so cold to him in the end; like a blank slate, or an icy morning. He looked so-so- like someone ripped out his spine. Spineless. No will of his own.

I snort and kick a cobble stone, knocking it loose from the pavement and stubbing my toes in the process. Guess we have something in common. Well, besides our name. Mother named me after him. I hated the name “Bertholdt” for so long because of him. Now I can no longer muster up the anger for something I can easily change. With no family I can name myself.

I won’t.

What’s the point? It’s only a name.

The question keeps barreling back though. Why? Why did he leave?

I find myself storming back up the stairs that creak with each step till I’m staring at the dark wood of the door.  There’s a knocker. Automatically long dark fingers curl around the brass handle of the brass… thing. I don’t know what it’s called; I don’t even know if this really is brass.

The buzz goes quiet. It’s not too late to back out. The door clicks open. There’s a tiny face with glass green eyes and light brown hair. “Gu-gutentag?” he says. A tint of fear laces his voice.

Can’t say I blame him. I look so different from him with my brown skin, black hair and eyes. Not to mention I’m like three of him in height.

“Is, is there a Bertholdt Hoover here?” my German is still not very good.

The boy blinks and opens the door wider while he turns his oversized head inside. “Papa!”

My heart stops. Papa? He can’t be any older than seven – he-he left eighteen years ago.

“Heinrich! What have I told you about opening the door to strang-ers-” a man I vaguely recognize as my father yanks the boy back into the house as he scold him, he spots me and chokes on his words. His mouth opens and closes like a dying fish.

“You abandoned my mother for another woman.” I stare into his wide dark eyes. He’s gone grey. I can’t believe this. “You left my mother alone. Left me without a father.” I sound like I’ve discovered there is in fact a god.

“Bert-”

“Who is it dear?” a woman’s voice interrupts the man in front of me.

“No one-”

“There’s a weird guy at the door mama!” the boy interrupts.

The woman forces the door open, she has an infant strapped to her breast. I’ve never been so insulted in my life.

“Who is this? Who are you?” she demands.

My father stumbles over his words. It’s embarrassment. This man hardly taller than this woman, not even coming close to my towering height of six feet and then some.

“I’m this man’s son. Berthold, Hoover. To think he abandoned my mother for you – I mean no disrespect ma’am – I just never thought-” I have a hard time containing my anger, my words tumble over and I’m sure I slip some Hindu in there somewhere. Hands shake, I can feel my face inflame. “She loved you. I looked up to you.” I tell him, he doesn’t look me in the eyes, instead staring at the ground.

“What? What is he talking about Bertholdt? Dear?” she shrills, the boy looks at me with wide eyes. The man has started sweating. Oh gods, I don’t get that from him do I?

“I’m sorry ma’am, I only came to this land to personally tell this man that my mother had passed away recently… I just thought he should know, and I can’t write so… I’ll be going now.” It takes all my will power to keep my voice steady. I don’t succeed as much as I’d liked.

His head whips up, he has the audacity to be sad. “Rachna is dead?”

The woman takes a deep shuddering breath. “Come inside child. It’s not safe outside.” She beckons me, not wanting to be rude I follow. Also it is getting dark and all these warnings about being here has my skin prickling. “H-how old are you?”

“Twenty-two, twenty-three come… December.” I whisper. I believe that’s the proper month, the Europeans go by a different calendar than my people.

She nods. “My eldest was about you age. He would be twenty if he hadn’t caught the disease.”

“Disease?” I wonder out loud.

“Yes, it’s why most of the town is in ashes. Don-don’t touch anyone when you leave.” She warns. Her voice is quaky and quiet.

“Okay.” It makes me glad about not nearing any of the dirty scavengers on the way here.

The man hasn’t said a word. Only following meekly behind as she leads us to a room with couches and a hearth. The little boy still stares at me like I’m so new exotic thing. Okay, I am, but it’s still rude to stare.

“Tell me, where do you… come from?” she adjust the baby. I can’t believe I have siblings.

“India.” I tell her.

She nods again tapping her light brown bun. “Your father – my _husband_ never told me he sired a child there.” Her voice borders on hostile. I don’t blame her, I’m sounding pretty hostile myself. “When we first met, he left for India, didn’t come home for a long time. He came back and we married.”

“How… how long have you been married… to him?” I’m so infuriated, so confused and hurt.

“Nearing twenty years. He said – when he suddenly went back to India – that he was going to gain his for-fortune.” She sniffs, “He _lied to me!”_ she sobs. I let her. What else can I do in this situation?

“How did she die?” he finally speaks, his head does not rise from the floor. Pathetic.

“Fell down the stairs. Broker her neck. Six months ago.” I answer not looking at him, trying to keep my voice neutral. “If it’s alright with you I will leave soon.” I address… my step-mother I guess, “I can’t stand being around this, this _coward_.” She nods again. That irritates me, that all she can do is nod. Scream yell, hit the bastard. _Something._

“Berthol-” he tries.

“ _Don’t!_ ” I shout at him in Hindu. _“What possible excuse can you have to-to use my mother and leave. Marry another woman and-and do this to your wife!? To my mother, to me!?”_

His head hangs. Is that all he can do? “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I loved Rachna. Your existence just complicated-” I’m up with a fist in his face. He cries out clenching his gushing nose. I hope it broke. My hand hurts.

I stand there heaving. My step mother gasps clenching her shrieking infant, the boy begins to cry. Never have I ever raised my hand in this way. I need to leave. Now. So I do. I storm out; leaving a man with a broken nose, a traumatized child, and a shaken wife and mother.

I sprint back to the ship. Tears like acid stream down uncontrollably as I hurdle myself into my tiny little cabin. He never loved me. He hated me. My own father didn’t even want me.

Hannes leaves port the next day. He’s in a hurry. He wouldn’t say why, not really, and at this point I no longer care. The faster he gets back to India the better.

“Trost. Haven’t been there in a while.” He comments. He ignores my red eyes and slumped posture, good man. Anyway, guess we’re stopping there next. Never been to France before

* * *

 

In three days, Captain Hannes will sail his small passenger ship into my hometown’s harbor in India. I will get off with much thanks for his kindness in taking a man he hardly knew across the world and back again nearly free of charge; and for his hospitality in giving me my own cabin even though I’m not technically part of the crew; then I will re-start my old life and pretend what happened in Germany never happened.

I have no father. I never went to that gods forsaken place, where it stank worse than decaying bodies and elephant shit left out for in the hottest days of the hottest month.

I’ve crammed myself onto my tiny bed (my ankles hang off the edge when I lay down) in an equally small room (if I bend both elbows and hold them up they brush the walls), trying to decipher the strange language of German in the letters that that man sent mother.

In Trost – the last stop in Europe Hannes made where many wealthy people piled on in a panic to get away from the burning city – three men who were clearly not wealthy by the state of their clothes and hygiene tumbled on board in the midst of panicked rich people in bright silks and heavy bags and purses. Jean a French native to Trost dead-eyed and covered in blood and soot; Armin a short yellow-haired man (he looks rather pre-pubescent); and Eren a green-eyed German I’m painstakingly taking lessons from.

I’m learning slowly – only know the alphabet and some common words – but I’m learning. It’s not nearly enough to understand the scribbles on these papers. There’s not many letters, but each letter has at least six pages of tiny text. I’m hoping to find some reason on why that man left, why mother continued to write to him. If I can just find the answer then- **_BOOM!_**

The canon fire has me jumping clear off the bed in fright. I land hard on the floor, letters flutter to the ground in a disorganized mess.

What was that?

Canon fire. It can’t be good. Quickly I gather all the papers and place them back in the envelope and then in my bag. The rest of what little money I have left (maybe enough for two or three meals) goes into the secret pocket within my sleeve.

By the time I’ve finished, the ship rocks in a way that has me having trouble standing, wood scrapes. The other ship must me preparing to board. Just my luck we get pirates. There’s screaming all around me. The room rattles with the combined screams of hysterical woman, with how close the other ship must be, and with how many people are sprinting past my door.

I wait. What else can I do? If I’m lucky, they might just pass this room, or leave. Not likely. I clench my bag tight to my chest and pray. What else can I do?

I don’t have to wait long. Two men come crashing in, the door hangs off by the top hinge – nearly hitting me. A large, possibly taller than me, Chinese man barrels in, knocking the door completely off the last hinge.

He shouts something but I don’t understand what he’s saying. He rips my bag out of my hands, I let him there’s nothing of value in there. After he’s through digging through the meager contents he throws it at an average height white man behind him. The Chinese man grabs my arm and quite literally throws me out of my own room. I’m quite impressed because I’m by no means small.

“Sorry about him.” The other man says. He tosses my bag at me and gestures with his cocked pistol for me to go up top. “Go on.” He urges. With a tired sigh I do as he says. What else can I do?

What have I don’t in this life to have such bad thing happen to me? What bad karma did I accumulate to have my father leave me, my mother die, having a two-timing man as a father, and be attacked by pirates? Three days. Three days and I’d be in India. Back to my old life. Quietly living out the rest of my short time on this Earth. Why can’t things just go my way for once?

Lost in thoughts I fail to notice I’m outside till several pistols click toward me. There’s swords pointed at me too. Sigh, I put my hands up. This is ridiculous. I see Jean and go stand by him. He has his wrists tied, he also looks scared, but at least he hasn’t disgraced himself like many of the more… delicate passengers. I don’t blame him for being frightened, like me he has no one. A very large blond with yellow eyes has Jean by the shoulder; Eren lays in a crumpled on the ground. I hope he’s alright.

“Hands.” What? Oh, sigh. The same blond man (he’s nearly as tall as me; but much wider than me) ties my wrists together. Honestly this is really unnecessary. I won’t run, where would I go? I won’t fight, I don’t have a weapon and I highly doubt my physical strength is enough to overpower the man that’s tying my hands.

“Three days away. Three.” I mumble. Jean seems to understand as he laughs quietly and uncomfortably as if to say ‘same’.

Things go by slowly. I learn the hulking blond is named Reiner. Eren and Armin have been recruited to the pirates’ side by a young Asian woman the pirate captain called Mikasa. Apparently Mikasa and those boys are family. I don’t know. Jean has become... an interest to the captain of the opposing ship. Marco, the man calls himself, the young – possibly a little younger than me – has neatly parted short black hair, kind cow brown eyes, and freckles adorning his slightly chubby cheeks.

Captain Marco reads off a leger for this ship in near perfect English (it’s better than mine anyway), calling out names and placing them in groups. He’s got a slave group, a ransom group, a pressed group and another group I’m not sure what it is.

“Bertholdt Hoover.” Marco’s voice gives me a start, I raise my arm, the sleeve of my blue tunic slides down as I do.

“Oh? An Indian boy?” Marco comments.

“Half.” I say looking down at the pirate like one would look at a rat.

“Excuse me?” Marco looks up from the papers, ignoring the look he’s getting. “Ah yes. It says you’re returning home from Germany. You would be dropped off at the next port am I correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why where you in Germany?”

“My father lives there.”

“And a mother?”

“Dead, last year.”

“And that’s the reason you traveled to your father’s homeland?” Marco seems genuinely curious. Oh come off it.

“Obviously.” I say in dead pan tone. Jean suppresses giggles.

“But why not stay? Going all the way across the world only to turn back around. It seems you’re on this twice. And only stayed in Europe for as long as this ship stayed there.” Marco’s voice has gotten sweeter, like he’s trying not to get frustrated by my simple responses.

“That. Is none of your business.” I tell him harshly. I don’t wish for those wounds to reopen again.

“Turned you out did he? White men tend to do that for their mixed accidents.” Marco shakes his head in mock sadness. Every muscle in my body lock.

 _“Takes one to know one!”_ I shout quickly and harshly in Hindu at him.

Marco freezes, uh oh. That can’t be good. “What did you call me? My Hindu is a bit rusty.” He’s taking out his sword. I might have said something stupid. I try not to flinch at the sound of metal scrapping out of its’ scabbard.

 _“You know damn well what I said.”_ I reply in a cold voice still in Hindu, there’s dangerous flash in the cow brown eyes of the invading captain. Marco hits me really hard in the stomach with the hilt of his sword, I go down on my knees hard. That hurt. Ow. Reiner walks over and forces me onto my feet.

“Will your father pay ransom?” Captain Marco asks after I’ve lifted my head.

“Likely not. I don’t have any money either, so don’t ask.” I’m breathless. Marco shouts in Chinese and I’m forcefully dragged on board the other ship.

Reiner sits me on a bench next to Eren who is holding his head in his hands and between his knees. He looks up as I sit. Reiner goes back over.

“You apart of the crew now?” Eren asks. There’s a little bit of blood on his neck and hand.

“I… don’t know exactly.” I tell him. I don’t know why I was brought aboard. I admit I’m a little frightened. My stomach hurts.

“Shit.” Eren stands. “You have your stuff?”

“Yes.” I clutch my bag tightly.

“Fuck. Need to get my stuff, Armin’s, might as well get Jean’s.” Eren says watching as Reiner restrains Jean as Marco does… something to him. Eren sits back down after a man raises a gun on him.

I hope Jean’s okay. He may be annoying and constantly picking fights with Eren, but I like him.

The day goes by so very slowly. Me and Eren watch Marco’s crew carry over everything of value including Reiner, carry an unconscious Jean below deck. Blood dripping heavily from his head. We watch as bawling future slaves get pushed in the belly of the ship. Sitting here is uncomfortable; but I don’t know what to do. If Eren is content to wait what happens when he is probably the least patient person I know, I suppose it’s fine.

“Ca-captain?” Eren rubs his arm as he addresses the man. I jump a little as I hadn’t realized he was so close.

“What?” Marco isn’t invested in the budding conversation, instead observing how his orders are being carried out.

“I need to get my things, and Armin’s, and… Jean’s.” he says.

“Mikasa, go with him.” Marco waves vaguely.

With Eren gone I’m alone. Again. I hate this feeling. I sit there in a state of despair wondering what will happen to me. The urge to dig out mother’s sari burns deep but I don’t. What if they take it away from me? What if I’m sold into slavery? I feel sick.

“Hey!” the voice makes me jump. It’s Reiner. “Sorry.”

“It-it alright.”

He stands there staring at me for a long while. I feel uncomfortable, sweat beads down my back and neck. I hear a passing conversation of that woman Mikasa telling Eren he needs a bath and clean clothes. Gods that sounds magnificent. I haven’t had a proper cleansing in nearly a year.

“Your eyes are green in the sun.” Reiner comments. There’s a pinkness to his cheeks.

“E-excuse me?” my eyes are black. This man has been in the sun too long, he has a sunburn on his face.

“Nothing. You- um. Your people bathe right?” he asks awkwardly wringing his large hands.

“…Yes?”

“Um, well if you want there’s a bath room bellow… you can wash if you want… not that you stink, you actually kinda smell nice- I’ll stop talking now.” He stumbles. Now I feel red in the face.

“Thank you…?” I suppose. It’s obvious he fancies me. I think. Men don’t tell other men they smell good without some sort of fancy right? At least not in my experience.

“This way.” Reiner gestures for me to follow him.

What else can I do? A bath sounds more appealing than the fear that he might want to do things to me. He’s so big, he might be able to force me. I gulp and follow him into the dim hatchway that leads to wherever he’s taking me.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a proper bath!” Eren’s voice filters through the misty room Reiner has lead me. I stand there staring at the large room filled with steam and tubs of all shapes and sizes.

“Here we are.” Reiner says in a ‘tada’ tone.

“Thank you.” I ignore Reiner and head into the room towards Eren and Armin.

“Oh. Hello Bertholdt.” Armin greats. He’s not in a tub but sits on a stool using a sponge and bucket to scrub himself. I suppose it’s because he can’t get in a tub without getting his cast wet, or maybe it hurts too much to get in one. Eren vigorously scrubs himself pink.

“Hi.” I greet back. Eren grunts a hello before dunking his head. I take a deep breath feeling a bit safer away from Reiner and with friends. I take clean clothes out and quickly undress and bathe. It’s been so long.

* * *

I end up following Reiner all day long. He doesn’t seem to mind. Eren and Armin have been attached to Mikasa since they finished their bath and I have no idea where Jean is. I hope he’s okay. I hope he isn’t being sold off. (I honestly don’t think anyone would buy him).

“What are you going to do?” I sit with Armin in what I believe to be the mess hall. The room is lined with long tables with attached benches. They are made beautifully, just like the figure head.

“Stay.” Armin answers. “We don’t have anything else. No home and the only family we have left is each other. Mikasa says Marco is a good man, a good friend. Eren says he’ll stay too.”

“Oh.” What am _I_ going to do? I’ve fooled myself into thinking I can go home and restart my life. Tricked myself into thinking I could get married and have kids. That someone would actually be willing to put up with me. That I could get my old home back. That my job will still be there. Gods I’m an idiot.

“What are you going to do?” Armin asks. He’s so incredibly small.

“I… I have no idea.” At least I’m not being sold off into slavery. “I… guess I can stay too.” What else can I do?

“Great!” Reiner’s loud voice has us both jumping. “Let’s go tell Marco!” he shakes my shoulders. I was right about him being stronger than me.

“Oh, your joining too Bertholdt?” Eren asks helping Armin stand up. Mikasa hovers close by.

“I suppose so…”

Eren nods and follows Mikasa away. With a light bump on the shoulder Reiner prompts me to follow as well. Here goes the rest of my life.

We reach Marco’s cabin, it’s at the end of a long corridor at the back of the ship. Reiner knocks on the heavy wood.

“Who is it?” Marco’s voice sounds muffled, barely recognizable through the door.

“Us Captain.” Mikasa answers. The opens revealing a frowning freckled face.

Reiner drags me into the room after him, Armin hobbles in with the help of Eren.

“Quietly.” Marco demands after Eren cursed loudly as he stubbed his toe on something. Ouch, with how hard it hit, it must hurt a lot. “What do you want? I’m about to sleep.” Marco sounds irritated, he’s wearing a tunic and loose pants. I agree, can’t this wait till the morning?

A groan catches our attention. Eyes widen upon seeing Jean with stark white bandages wrapped firmly around his head laying in a pit of pillows, a blanket draped over him. I feel better knowing he’s safe. Why is he even in here?

“What the hell happened to him?” Eren demands.

“Watch who you’re talking to boy.” Marco growls, “Really, don’t you Germans possess a shred of respect for anyone?” once again Jean groans. I feel like I should be offened.

Color flares in his cheeks and he looks down sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“Now, what do you want?” Marco demands in a harsh whisper.

“They wish to join the crew Marco.” Reiner whispers.

 “And this couldn’t have waited until morning?” Marco twirls around and marches toward a desk by a large bed. I’ve never seen a bed like it before. It’s so large, made of dark wood and has four pillars or something that has beams connecting them on top and curtains you can pull to create privacy. I like it. “Fine. Just be quiet. I’m not in the mood to deal with him waking up.” I think he means Jean.

He digs around in his desk till he lifts a book out of a drawer. “Name, age, rate, origin.” He dips a quill and waits a brave volunteer.

“Eren Jaeger.” Eren pipes up, bouncing on his toes. Why is he so excited?

 “Alright, the rest. And hurry there’s only so much night.” Marco dips the pen again. He seems to be running out of ink.

“Twenty-one soon. I’m not sure what you mean by rate though.” Eren’s cheeks are a light pink. I though he was younger.

Marco rolls his eyes (they don’t look Chinese) and looks at Mikasa for some explanation. I’m glad I didn’t go first. “He’s a fighter. He can sail and navigate like any other man. He excels in combat. What he doesn’t know, he learns fast.” Marco nods.

“Continue.”

“German with Turkish ancestry.” He finishes in a hurry. I knew he was German, I didn’t know he had Turkish ancestry though.

“Next.” Not me.

“Armin Arlet. Twenty-one come this November. I- I’m not strong but-” he bites his lip unsure of how to continue. I think this pirate captain is cranky, he was so polite this morning.

“He’s a genius.” Eren shouts, then covers his mouth as Marco’s face becomes tight and Jean whimpers. “He can just look at something and remember it instantly.”

“Fine, whatever. Origin?” Marco dips the pen for the fifth time.

“European? I guess? A little German, a little Brit or Swedish, I don’t know. My parents never liked to stay in one place too long.” He switches his weight with the roll of the ship. It must be hard to balance on those crutches on a rolling ship.

“Last?”

“Bertholdt Hoover.” I say hoping my voice doesn’t tremble.

“Go on.”

“Twenty-four come December. I have no clue how to sail or navigate waters. I’m only joining because I do not wish to be auctioned nor do I have anything left to go home to in India. You already know my origin.” I tell him the truth quickly. I know I have a thick accent so I hope it wasn’t too hard to understand. It occurs me I probably should have mentioned I’m a decent carpenter. Too late now.

He blows on the ink and slams the book closed. “If that’s all please leave. I am tired and don’t wish to be disturbed unless an emergency or my breakfast is ready. I would like Jean’s brought to me as well please.” Marco practically shoves us out the door. “Good night.” The door shuts firmly, there’s a clank of a lock being placed.

“Come on buddy, I’ll show you the sleeping quarters. There’s an empty hammock next to mine you can use, it’s plenty big enough for you.” Reiner slaps my shoulder and practically drags me away. Buddy? Is that a word for friend? I hope so because I never agreed to anything more.

True to his word, there is a hammock large enough for me hanging in the men’s quarters next to the one Reiner climbs into.

“There’s blanket and pillows on the shelf there.” He yawns. There’s an alarming pop sound that comes from Reiner’s shoulders as he stretches. It sounded painful.

“Thank you Reiner. For you kindness to me.” I pluck a thin blanket and fluffy pillow and climb into my new bed. It’s strange, but comfortable.

“No problem Bertl. Sweet dreams.” Bertl? I suppose that’s okay.

“Night.” it occurs to me as I lay away watching the lantern across the room rock with the ship that I’m a pirate now.

Yohoho I suppose.


	2. Testing One Two Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco wants to find out how hard he can spank Jean in play
> 
> set sometime after Jean and Marco have healed. at this point both are exploring limits in their play.

Marco had summoned me to his ‘chamber’ as Connie had put it with a condescending snicker as he left.

There Marco stood, in all black, holding what looked like a ridding crop. Marco came forward revealing his shapely calves and bare feet, his arms seem bigger in the sleeveless hanfu shirt thing (I can never remember the name of their clothes).

“Want to…play?” he asks stepping closer to draw the crop against my cheek.

“Play?”

“How hard can I hit you?” he clarifies, is that clarification?

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. My first time getting penetrated had some spankings involved. They were little annoying taps that left no redness but still stung in the initial hit.

“Let’s find out. Take off your pants.” Marco grabs my hand and pulls me to the ottoman. “Lean over please.” He moves away to stuff a discarded sock in the speaking tube.

So I take off my pants and kneel down across my punishment chair. I hate this thing, but it’s the only thing at the perfect height for this exact thing. Marco walks over, inspecting. He abruptly pulls my tunic to my armpits. Yeah, okay asshole, you could have just _told_ me to do that.

“Perfect.” He nudges my knees, “Spread a little wider please.” I do so, “Good, good.”

The first slap doesn’t hurt in the slightest. It felt like my mother slapped me on the wrist for something. It draws out a surprised hum though.

“How’s that?” Marco asks. Bare feet pad across the floor. Is he pacing? I turn to look back but he shoves my head back. Fine then.

“Meh.” I say after I’ve realized he’s waiting for an answer.

“This?” the next hit hits me in the middle of the left buttock, the previous smack was a little higher. The hit has a pleasant sting to it. Not much to it though, the feeling quickly passes, it felt like a warning hit. Marco takes the silence as a good sign and hit’s harder. It gets a hiss and a wiggle out of me. That was a nice sting, the beginnings of arousal are starting to form. “Harder?”

“Maybe.” I answer. Not sure how hard I can take it. Knowing from previous experience, spankings can hurt in a very bad way. It must be why Marco is testing today. He’s not hitting the same spot twice, it’s so it doesn’t compromise the experiment I suppose.

Marco hums and gently rubs the offended buttock. The callouses on his palm feel nice. The first hit didn’t even redden the skin I bet. The second probably faded away quickly. Marco switches sides, hitting hard enough to make me jump and let out a squawk. That was embarrassing. I hadn’t expected that. The sting lasts longer that the previous ones.

“Good?” Marco asks.

“Yeah.”

The next his has me crying out. It’s different cry, a genuine cry of pain. “Bad?” Marco asks in concern soothing the bright red skin. All I can do is nod, there’s brief flash memories of the first time Marco had me on this damn chair. Face buried in the fabric of the ottoman sobbing and afraid.

“That _hurt_.” I tell him.

“Alright.” Marco says. He knows how hard he can spank me in play now. “Can we do more?”

“Yeah.”

Marco hums a happy tune and hits me again. The same hit that draws out a moan and wiggle. He doesn’t again in the same spot as before. “Hng.” The sting lasts longer.

“Good?”

“Yeah. Yes.” Though I appreciate him checking in, it does take away the mood. “Go on.”

“Needy little thing aren’t you?” he punctuates ‘needy’ and ‘you’ with a sharp slap. Again on the same spot as before.

“Hah, ffuck.” Feels good, and god it shouldn’t. I know some girls like a little slap in the middle of a fuck, hell I’ve had a few girls who returned the favor, but never had sex began with a sharp spank and I can honestly say I’m pleasantly surprised with the outcome.

Marco’s hand sooths the hurt. I’m sure there’s a red welt there. “You’re doing so well Jean.”

Oh no. Anything but praises. Shhit. I didn’t even know praise kink was a thing before Marco said so. Honestly thought it was normal. It all makes sense now, how I came harder when partners told me how well and good I felt.

Three sharp slaps land in quick recession throws those thoughts in the trash. “Ah!” the hurt burns a little now. Almost unpleasant. Another slap and it’s no longer pleasant. “No more there.”

“Hm?” Marco kneels over to kiss the offended spot. His lips are soft and gentle.

“No more there.” I repeat. It felt too much like a punishment.

“Okay.” He says and switches cheeks.

By the time he finishes my ass is on fire and I’m a hard whimpering mess.

Marco takes the time it takes me to stop breathing so damn hard to kiss and give hickeys so the pink and red flesh. “So good Jean. You took it well.”

“Hmm.” Let’s just pretend I didn’t whimper that. Marco stands giving my bum a brief pat before going somewhere. Can I get up now?

“Don’t move pet. I’m not done with you.” He says as if reading my mind. Ugh. My knees are starting to hurt. How long have I been kneeling here?

He comes back and his knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Marco made an order of not looking back, but it’s really hard when there’s no real sound coming from him, but he’s _doing_ something and I can _feel_ his erection occasionally brush the back of my thigh. He shuffles back and I feel him lean forward.

“What are you doing?” I ignore his order to keep facing forward in favor of wondering why the fuck is he parting my ass cheeks and breathing all over _that part_.

“Forward Jean.” The order is firm and commanding. Whatever, fucking weird-OH.

“What the fuck?” did he just _lick_ me? _There_? What the fuck!? Marco chuckles breathlessly, the hot breath ghosts over the drying saliva on my fucking goddamn anus. Despite how weirded out I am, that felt kinda good. Marco is nudging my legs wider.

“Like it?” his tone implies he’s going to do it any way.

He grips my sore ass cheeks, squeezing them and rolling them in his rough palms. “Mm.” purposefully he drags me forward, the motion makes the thick fabric slide against my erection. Fucking neat. “Do what you want. Just don’t fucking kiss me with your ass mouth.”

Marco snorts and buries his face.

God, this shouldn’t feel so good. He’s circling around with just the tip of his tongue. I can feel him tilting his head to leave a sharp bite and suck a hickey right next to where he was licking. Marco’s strong fingers keep massaging flesh as he flattens his goddamn tongue and full on dog licks.

“Damn.” It comes out as a breathy sigh.

He’s got me panting by the time I’m loosened enough for him to stick it _inside._ “What the fuck?” Who the fuck thought eating ass would be pleasurable? I’m going to find that gross ass fucker and kiss him in the mouth. Fuck.

Marco pauses to lean over, his erection slides against my ass. “Suck. Please.” He commands. The whine that was about to leave replaced by a huff of irritation. It was just getting good!

Three fingers are close to my lips and are taken in without complaint. It’s Marco’s turn to moan as I grab his wrist and suck on his digits like I’m sucking cock. He pulls away violently, leaving a trail of saliva that breaks when he moves back.

Marco gives me a sharp slap before once again parting and partaking. “Ah.” Should have seen the finger coming considering I just lubed them. He stops his licking to thrust the finger, getting deeper every time. Pushing back encourages him to add another, is stings a bit, but I know it only last a little bit. “You gonna keep teasing me till I cum or what?”

“Not a bad idea.” Marco answers.

Dammit.

His free hand snakes between my legs and under to get ahold of my erection. He pulls on it. His tongue joins his fingers. This is too much. Can I cum whenever? He never said I couldn’t. I don’t know what to do, so laying there and taking it seems like the best course of action for me at the moment.

“Marco-ffuck.” He hums against his fingers. He’s not really thrusting anymore, stretching now. Marco pulls his two fingers out quickly and replaces them with his tongue. “Fuck!” that can’t possibly taste good. God that’s disgusting.

Marco grabs onto my boney hips and presses me back. Wonder if I’m allowed to touch myself? Jesus ffuckkk, he’s thrusting with his tongue. God, what the hell? Jesus Christ, how can I ever wipe my ass again without thinking of him doing that? The fear of getting hard every time I wipe is real.

He stops again.

“Nmh. Dammit Marco, quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Stopping in the middle.” I say.

“Hmm.” He hums and bites me.

“Ow.” Great, a bite mark to match the dark blue bruises and red marks littering my ass.

“Sorry.” There’s a rustle of cloth and the sound of a cork popping open. Oh. Okay. We’re going there today? But nothing happens and all I can hear Marco do is breathe heavily.

“What?” again the order to not look back is ignored in favor of looking at him. There’s a frown and he’s staring at me, a particular _part_ of me.

“Can’t decide what to do with you. Maybe fill you up with something and have you suck my cock. Maybe continue to eat you out till you cum screaming. Plain old sex?” he answers tracing hands across my backside, traveling up to kneed the lower back muscles.

“Do what you want. Just don’t kiss me with your nasty mouth.” It’s the reason I’m here you know. To bring you pleasure and company. I take pride in it, somehow. But I don’t tell him this. He’ll just go into a fit about how I’m not his slave or something like that. He just doesn’t seem to understand that I _accept_ this way of life. He doesn’t tell me I can’t have other people, nor does he force me with others. How many people in the pleasure trade can be comfortable and enjoy their duties like me? But he’d complain saying I’m his friend, his companion, and in another life his boyfriend. But I’m not.

“I’ve decided.” He claims and gets up, fixing his pants so his dick doesn’t flop around as he walks.

“Whatever.” there’s shuffling and something being dragged out, more shuffling. Sounds of things hitting things and I’ve honestly have had enough. So, I get up and stretch trying hard to ignore the way my knees protest and the feel of my erection brushing faintly against tunic and belly. “Hurry up, I’m getting soft.”

Marco finally makes a triumphant sound and shows me what looks like a thin glass butt plug. Oh dear. “Doesn’t feel like you’re getting soft.” He says unabashedly grabbing my dick and stroking. “Back on your knees now.” He says pushing down on my shoulder.

He wrenches my tunic back up and gives me yet another hard slap. How many hand and crop prints do I have now? Balanced on elbows, Marco has me spread my legs again so he can do whatever he’s planning to do.

“It’s not as wide as your first, but it has a twist design. Like a- a… um screw. Is it screw?” Marco asks uncertain.

“Let me see.”

He moves over and hands me the glass plug. It flares just like the wooden one I bought, but it’s skinnier and a little shorter. Also it does have a twisty screw thing going on. Oh gods, he’s going to twist it in isn’t he.

“Yeah. Screw is right.” There’s another word for this, but I can’t quite make it come out.

“Okay.” Silence. Turning back has Marco’s hand shoving me forward. Fucking annoying. “Forward pet.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

There’s a pause in which a wetness can be heard and the feel of something room temperature dripping down my crack. Eugh, that itches. “Quit squirming so.” Marco complains hand on lower back before he presses the tip gently against my anus. My breathing is coming in fast in the excitement. Deep breaths Jean. Not following my own advice though.

With a sure twisting motion it slides in smoothly. A gasp at the stretch turns into a surprised moan as the next twist goes all the way in and brushes that little something in there. Why did the gods put the male G-spot in his ass? Is that some kind of sick joke to you guys?

Marco nestlings the plug in so it doesn’t fall out and licks around it. “Marco! Shit.” I wasn’t expecting that. “Hah-ffuck. Mmng.” I bury my face into the upholstery to muffles any more weird sounds.

Marco’s hands travels up the forced arch of my back and into my hair where he grabs a fistful and roughly tugs till he’s got the arch he wants. It forces the newly formed scars to stretch. I always knew I like hair pulling.

Marco then (never once letting go of my hair, or lightening the grip) walks around till his crotch it in my face. The grip changes to the position while Marco pulls down his pants. “You know what to do pet.”

“And what’s tha-?” a cocky smirk and a dick shoved in my mouth at the “ah” sound of that is what I get for being me. Fuck you to.

The grip on the chair tightens as slowly but surely Marco slides in till my nose is squished into his lower belly. I try really hard not to gag and become mostly successful. Marco stays there not moving, me not being able to breathe. But it’s okay, I managed a breath before he so rudely interrupted. There Marco waits a tiny bit longer before rocking without actually moving. Drool is starting to drip so I swallow earning a ragged moan from my suffocater.

Being filled from both ends is actually kind of nice. I feel all warm and fuzzy in my belly. Need oxygen, so I grab on Marco’s hip and push back as a signal. Marco eases away and out. Gasping and trying to breathe isn’t helping with Marco rubbing his fucking erection on my lips.

“Any day now.” Marco hums cheerfully. I send a glare up to him. Probably looks silly with my mouth around his dick again though. “Very good.” Marco sighs. He continues to rock back and forth gently as I suck. Can I touch myself? I’m going to touch myself.

He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact his eyes seemed to have darkened and he’s _smirking._ Ugh. It only looks good on me. Marco’s hand lets go and he back away leaving me still jerking and gasping for air. A sharp smack from the crop on my jerking arm and an order to stop touching myself has me grunting in annoyance.

“What to do now?” ‘now’ begins with another spank. Marco paces back and forth humming that maddening tune and occasionally giving me a good sound smack as he walks by. Each hit brings out a low grunt.

“This is getting boring.” It’s not, I’m just tired of having to wait.

The crop clatters to the ground. Uh oh.

“Boring huh?” he sighs, palms on butt, “You have no patience. Guess I’ll have to teach you then.” His lips brush upward and along my spine till his hot breath is ghosting across my ear. He grinds his still wet erection onto my ass, bumping the plug that until know I’ve completely forgotten about.

“Ah, is-is that so?”

“Not today.” He nips his way back down and takes yet another sizable bite out of my ass.

“What the hell?” I hate it when he does that. Not enough to get him to stop though, no harm done, not like everyone sees my ass.

Marco says nothing, only dips back down for another taste of ass. The plug is twisted right into my prostate. Oooh lord. “Ahah!” toes curl, fingers clench. I’m never prepared enough for that feeling. Marco’s tongue follows along the groove of the twists as he thrusts the toy.

His hands disappear, the plug stays half way in, clothes rustle. “Look how you clench around it Jean.” There’s a wonder tainting his voice. “You’re so open and wanting aren’t you? So good for me.” He continues to torture me with his tongue while his hands fumble with something. Probably his dick. I’m trying to be secretive about playing with mine.

“Hahnnmm” the plug falls out, Marco simply replaces it with three fingers. “Shhitt.” He quickly finds _that spot_ and presses with gentle pokes. There’s a twitch and a moan each time he does. Marco parts his fingers. Ah, so we’re going all the way. “Ffuck.”

Slippery wetness drips out, ugh. That feeling is so strange.

“Ready?” Marco asks pulling my hips up and bumping his tip _there._

“Hurry up.”

Marco sighs and slides in easily. His foot comes to rest near my hand, he wraps his arm around my shoulders to grabs the front of my neck and pulls up so I’m nicely curved and off the ottoman save for my erection and balanced hands.

“Always so warm and tight for me.” He comments. His free hand rests there on my chest brushing nipples. Marco starts a slow thrust gathering momentum and power as he goes on. Light squeezes feel exciting. Hands clench into fists as he once again finds that bundle of whatever and I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

Marco grunts lowly every few thrusts, his hand on my neck squeezes, the air flow is constricted. Not enough to cause alarm. I can’t understand what Marco is saying anymore. Something about ‘good pet, very good’ in Chinese. It’s close to gibberish. I almost feel compelled to call him Owner again.

Marco squeezes hard. He scratches at a nipple. The thrusts come faster. I can’t get air. Suddenly it’s Shang’s large uncomfortably rough hands around my neck, not Marco’s. He’s squeezing too hard, I can’t breathe. I can’t. What was that safe word? Fuck, I don’t. I can’t even get words out. Shang has a knife, he’s going to, I can’t- “Zhì! Zhì!”

“Jean?” Marco stops his thrusting and loosens his grip at my panicked wheezing.

“Don’t. Don’t choke like that.”

“Oh! Oh, Jean. I’m so sorry.” He lets go of my neck entirely, favoring my shoulders instead.

“No, I said-” I grab his hand and put it back. “Just don’t, squeeze like you were. The firm holding… I…I liked that.”

“Are you sure?” There’s a warmth spreading in my chest at Marco’s genuine concern.

“Yes.”

Marco puts his hand back, his other hand flat on my upper back as he pulls up a little with his neck hand, so I’m forcefully arched again. The only thing keeping me balanced is my hands steady on the stupid ottoman. “Like this?” Marco’s hand is warm and forgiving, gently applying just enough pressure that he can feel me swallowing and makes me aware of each breath.

“Perfect.”

“Good.” He starts his punishing pace again.

“Ah fuck!” was not expecting him to start like that. Marco’s heavy breathing comes out as gasps and strange versions of my name and ‘pet’. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck.” Not like I’m doing any better. My head is swimming, hard as a rock dick rubbing against that hideous upholstery. I better not get rug burn on my dick I swear to “Gods above!”

“No gods here dear, just me and you tight bottom.” Marco answers. “Mmm.”

Can’t take anymore, his continuous pounding is starting to get monogamous. He never said I couldn’t jerk off. It occurs to me as I jerk into my hand, that I haven’t actually been moving. Not real guilt washes over and I start pushing back. There it is, the missing feeling.

“Finally.” Marco swears. His thrusts get shorter, more grinding. The fucking grinding, that’s what gets me. “You look so pretty Jean. So red and flushed.”

I laugh at being called pretty. “Th-thank you.” The coil deep inside is starting to unfurl.

“Anytime beautiful.”

My head drops, Marco adjust his firm hold accordingly. I’m not going to last long. Pretty sure I haven’t spoken English since the thanks. How long ago was that? Who knows? Oh fuck. Here it comes.

“Marco. Shitshitshit. Marco, I’m gunna-” the orgasm takes over whatever I was going to say, instead it fills my stolen words with a load keen. I did not just do that. Fuck. Marco lets go and I collapse against the fucking chair. He hasn’t stopped thrusting.

I’m sensitive and sore. He grabs my hips to keep me from wiggling away. “Oh no. Not done with you.” He says in a gravelly voice. “Come on pet.”

Dizzy with afterglow I try to squeeze my inner muscles. It doesn’t work like usual, I’m too weak. So I start tentative bucks, but it only irritates my sensitive dick. “Owner hurry.” Marco curses and fumbles with his pace. Gotcha. “Feels so good to be full with Owner’s cock.” Marco falls forward covering my sweaty body with his. Still Marco thrusts and I really want to lay down now. My knees ache.

“Hurry up Marco, for fucks sake.” I growl. He growls back nipping at my neck and scratching across my chest.

A breathless ‘Jean’ later Marco finally cums. Inside. Mother fucker.

“Bout time.”

Marco laughs. He slaps me hard, a punishing slap. “Ow what the fuck was that for?”

“I didn’t tell you you could cum.” He says between breaths.

“You never said I couldn’t, now get out of me. I’m sensitive.” That last part is added quietly. I’m half fucking hard now. Fuck. Just ignore it. Too tired for another round.

Marco pauses and smooths the sore skin of my ass cheek in an apology. “I thought I did, must have not got around to saying it out loud. Sorry.” He slips out with a horrid squelch.

“You messed my ottoman.” Marco whines after I’ve moved away from the mess.

“Good. Hate that thing.” Fuck. That was some fantastic sex. Slow motion like, I lay flat on the cold wooden floor. Sex made me sweaty and sticky and hot. Ugh.

Marco has a hop to his step and hums as he pours water and dips a cleaning rag in it. Why is he so peppy after sex? Wish I was, I always just pass the fuck out afterwards. His footsteps stop near my ear. I can hear his knees pop as he crouches down, he smells like sex.

“Here. You got it all over you.”

“You came in my ass again.” I’m not mad, not really. Just wish he could remember that I don’t really care for the diarrhea feel of it.

“Sorry. But you never said I couldn’t.” As an apology (I fucking guess) he cleans up for me.

“Touché.” Then after a pause, “I’m going to sleep.”

“At least put some pants on.”

“Naw.” With that I turn over and pass out. Marco throws a sheet over my lower half anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still need to do those other two chapters... hahaha... I just wanted to write smut


	3. On board the Bhagaśēpha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren's time away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is when Ymir took Eren as a hostage.
> 
> in third person.

Eren isn’t even sure how he got on Ymir’s ship to begin with. He was minding his own business when he heard a commotion up front and went to investigate. It was Jean, of course it was, he’s always starting shit. The next thing he knew, he was being bound and gagged and tossed over and thrown into a jail cell.

Eren manages to loosen his hands enough to slip them under his legs and then remove the crude gag. _Gross, tastes like sweat._ Next he works his teeth into the knot finally slipping off the rough rope from his wrists and ankles.

By the time he’d untied himself Eren could tell it would be nearly pointless to try and swim for it. But he had to try.

Fumbling for his pockets to find anything that might help him pick the lock of the cell door, Eren fails to notice the footsteps coming for him. It isn’t till a twig like man spoke some words Eren didn’t understand that he notices him.

The twig man curses upon seeing his prisoner out of his bonds. He wrenches a key ring from his belt to unlock the heavy cell door. Eren waits patiently for the man to come inside. It doesn’t take long, the door opens outward with an angry cry from his warden. Eren attacks once the door’s out of the way.

Eren finds out, with small breasts pressed into his face from the force of his tackle, that _he_ is a _she_. _Doesn’t matter. Get up. Get out._ For extra measure Eren decks the woman and flies up stairs as quietly as he can manage. The stairs creak and groan with every step. The woman he’d taken down groaning and trying to stand. _Hurry._

He can’t remember the way up. He’d been gagged and upside down for most the journey, and disoriented from the sharp jabs he received from struggling. Each loud voice, each misstep, each time he’s nearly spotted sends his heart into his throat and keeps his hands clammy with sweat. Finally, Eren makes it out on deck.

Eren can’t remember the last time he saw so many woman in one place. They’re everywhere. In the lines, hanging on deck, gossiping in the dark corners. Where are the bully boys? The ones Ymir usually has guarding her? Most the woman hardly care for shirts, many keep them open and let everything hang free. All these woman look so comfortable and free. No wonder most of Marco’s crew defect to Ymir.

“What are you doing out of your cell?”

Eren whirls around, already in a defensive crouch, to find a short blond woman. Her ice blue eyes give him the creeps. Her nose is large for a girl, but her face is very much feminine. _She’s very pretty aesthetically speaking_. She doesn’t take an attack stance, just stares at him like he’s the lowest of the low and crosses her arms.

“Leaving.” With that Eren sprints as fast as he can toward the railing, in the distance he can see Marco’s ship, a little dot on the horizon. It’s far, but he’s a strong swimmer.

“No.” the girl slides in front of him and knocks him on his neck, he’s staring at his crotch in amazement. “I can’t really let you do that.” She says bored.

 _How did she do that?_ Eren wonders as he rolls back onto his feet. She’s strong, he can see her arms have bigger muscles than him. He doesn’t like it. Not because she’s obviously stronger than him, but because someone smaller than him has bigger muscles.

He tries to run again, but she once again slides into his path. So, he fights back. Eren throws a punch at her midsection but she dodges and grabs his punching arm to swing around. Eren feels nauseous with how fast she spun him. He remembers that he hadn’t eaten since early evening the night before. She keeps spinning him till his back collides with her breast (larger than they look, his brain supplies) and holds him down in a choke hold.

Eren can’t understand why he’s losing. He’s been in this exact possession with men twice as strong as she, yet he can’t get out of her hold. She has wrapped her legs around his. He suddenly understands how’s she’d doing it. He doesn’t know how to fight someone smaller than him, always fought people so much bigger than he was. _Use your size to your advantage_.

He can no longer see Marco’s ship.

“Shit.” Eren chokes. He’s losing consciousness. “Fuck.” _This is a good thing to learn from_ , he decides. He’s always learned better with demonstrations after all.

“Hurry up and pass out.” The girl says. He can feel her arms start to shake with the effort to keep his struggling under control.

“No.” Eren tries to head butt her, but it comes out weak. He can’t breathe. Kicking out causes her to constrict further. “Fuck. You win.” Eren chokes out before going limp.

The girl loosens her grip but not her hold till she’s sure he’s not faking it. “Name’s Annie by the way.” He can’t hear her.

* * *

 

Eren wakes up with fuzz dotting his sight and staring at his knees. There’s girlish tittering somewhere around him. It takes a while for him to realize they’re talking about him (it sounds like arguing). Mikasa’s name is uttered, so is Marco’s. Immeasurable moments go by before he realizes his wrists are tied behind a chair, upon further investigation he finds his legs are free and he’s not tied _to_ the chair.

He feels disoriented. Like he woke from an unexpected nap.

“He’s awake.”

“Eren…right?”

“…Yeah.” Eren doesn’t know what else to say. Until he knows more about what the fuck is going on, he can’t very well escape.

“He’s pretty dark for a white boy. Isn’t he German?”

“Ymir! Don’t be mean. He’s a sailor, of course he’s darker. It’s called a tan.”

The Ymir person snorts. _Oh fuck. Please be a different Ymir_. Eren finally braves lifting his head.

“What the fuck do you want with me?” Eren snarls. He’s tired, having not been able to sleep well lately. Insomnia is a bitch, he usual has no troubles sleeping. But lately that hasn’t been so.

“We just want to have a little fun with a German firecracker.” Krista simpers. She juts her shapely hip out and trails a perfect hand across her upper chest. Eren follows the motion in confusion.

“Fun?” Eren says. He wriggling his hands, trying to unknot the knots. He feels one give way.

“Yeah,” Krista moves closer, gracefully like she’s floating on air, and trails her soft hands up Eren’s thigh. “you’ll _love_ it. They all do.”

Eren huffs, finally understanding what they meant by fun. Krista sidles closer. Eren kicks her abdomen as hard as he can, she barely jumps away but he feels contact and she ‘ _oof_ s’ and doubles over. Ymir is already beside Eren to punish him (kill him more likely) but Eren sees her coming and with a final pull on the binds he punches Ymir in the face. He feels a crunch and wet blood spill. Probably broke her nose “Like Marco did?” his voice is accusing. Condescending.

There’s a pregnant silence as Krista, still doubled over and coughing, draws back more. Ymir stops her assault and looks away. Is that shame coloring their cheeks? “Marco, Marco hardly obeyed orders- he- we thought-” Krista stutters.

“We fucked up.” Ymir states plainly. “We fucked up so bad.” She wipes her nose splaying blood over herself and the intricate rugs below their feet.

“Besides.” Eren says. he can see- no _feel_ the oppressive guilt and over whelming regret fill the air and choke all three of them. “I don’t like sex.” Never mind that he’s never had it before. But he’s never had the urge, the drive to have sex, nor reproduce. Sure he had a future plan of possible kids, but there was never a ‘dream girl’ or imagined sex in the picture. Any time he woke up with an erection, he simply took care of it. Never able to imagine anyone while he did it. He just stroked till he wasn’t hard anymore.

Just like that the oppressive atmosphere is gone.

“Really?” Ymir snides.

Eren shrugs. “Yeah.”

“Well that’s just fantastic. I knew we should have just grabbed Jean, but nooo, we had to attempt Bertholdt.” Ymir throws her hands in the air and mutters some strange prayer to an even stranger god.

“Then why am I here?” Eren’s irritated. Ready to spring into a fight at any given moment.

“My doctor died. I need a new one. Especially after Marco’s bitch shot me.” Ymir gestures vaguely to a red patch on her shoulder.

“I’m not a doctor.” Eren says. At least, not by legal standards.

“Great.” She rolls her eyes. “I know you are.” Ymir sits down on a three legged stool. “Get to work.” She once again gestures vaguely to her shoulder then to a box spilling with medical supplies. Krista has been awfully quiet.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I throw you in the brig.” She says.

“I’ll take my chances.” He says.

“Listen. Eren. I’m in a lot of pain both emotionally and physically. I would greatly appreciate if you’d patch me up. You can have free reign of the ship, the fleet, fuck I don’t care if you jump off. We’re meeting back up with Marco in a few weeks, so it’s not like you can jump ship now, we’re a long ways from his ship by now. It’s been a few hours you know.”

Eren curses. “Will anyone else try to rape me?”

“We aren’t rapers.” Krista says.

“Tell that to Marco. Forcing someone to have sex with you sounds like rape to me.” Eren sneers. Krista had always seemed fake to him. Hiding behind cute smiles and barely genuine concern. He sees her face fall, he sees Ymir’s eyes mist.

“It’s not like Marco isn’t doing the same to Jean.” Krista barks. She’s on the verge of tears. Normally tears would sober Eren from his anger, but on these ladies they seem to anger him more.

“Marco never forced Jean. Jean gave himself willingly. The only force in their relationship – or whatever they call it – is Marco keeping Jean as a fucking pet.” He says. He hasn’t moved from where he punched Ymir. Her nose is slightly crooked and still drips blood down her pretty sari.

“Fine whatever.” Ymir laments. “You going to fix this or what. Beautiful Historia did her best, but she’s no nurse.”

Eren sighs, anger draining him. He’s too god damn tired for this shit. “Give me your word no one will rape me and I can go where I wish?”

“Yes. Yes. Hurry up.” Ymir whines.

Eren sighs again and crouches next to the injured Empress to dress her bloody wounds wondering who the fuck Historia is.

* * *

 

True to her words, no one attempts to sexually harass him and he goes where he wishes on her ship. Eren gets a decent night’s rest in the ladies room. Being that he’s under the guise of ‘new pet’ he sleeps in there with them. Eren finally understands Jean’s frustration with the whole ‘pet’ situation.

Though everyone caring to listen to gossip, knows that Eren is a guest not to be touched, even by their queens for he is a valuable hostage and skilled medical practitioner. Eren has lost count of how many people have come to him with ailments.

Many of the woman asking if something is normal on their labia’s, breasts, hips, even an asshole or two, a few dick visits as well. By the end of the third day, Eren refuses to see another person unless it is literally life threatening. He is sick at looking at strangers genitalia. He’s very uncomfortable to know their genitals before their names (not like he bothered remembering them anyway).

It made it even more awkward and uncomfortable that he needs a translator as most the crew speak variations of Urdu and Chinese. There was maybe four men that spoke Taiwanese and had to only guess what they were saying being that his translator left him in the middle of an exam. He’s starting to think that maybe they think him a joke.

Knocking at his temporary office door sends his shoulders slumping and a deep sigh to penetrate the silence. “I’m not taking any more patients. Um, Méiyǒu gèng duō de rén.” _No more people._ Eren tries to think of the Urdu way to say it, but he can’t remember what his translator taught him.

“Relax, I’m not here so you can poke around my parts.” Says the voice. _The_ voice.

“Oh. It’s you.” He says in mid-turn.

“Annie.” She says. She’s wearing brown breeches that in society would be considered ‘indecently tight’ and a white shirt covered by a navy blue corset like vest. Annie looks every bit a pirate.

“Eren.” They don’t shake hands. The name is familiar to him somehow. Annie is a fairly common name back in Europe, maybe that’s what he’s thinking about. “Why are you here?”

She shrugs then leans on the door frame. “Wanted to make sure the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?” _figures a boat full of girls would gossip nonstop_.

“That a handsome young man doesn’t try to cop a feel when examining the ladies.” She says. Annie sounds impressed, if her dead pan tone can sound depressed.

Eren shrugs. _Was I supposed to? That’s kind of rude isn’t it_?

“Most men would try something.” Annie goes on. And with a start, he realizes they’ve been speaking German. It’s been a while, and he smiles.

“I-I’m not sure how to explain it, but, I’ve never had the urge to have sex with woman. It’s just never been there. Sure I get erections, everyone gets aroused, but there’s no real urge to do something about it.” Eren isn’t sure why he’s telling her this. It’s none of her business anyway.

“Maybe you just fancy men.” Eren stares at her shoulders as she shrugs her comment. He’s never thought about that before.

He turns around to shuffle papers (the previous doctor, or whatever passed for one, left records of all his patients. _I probably should too,_ ) to think on Annie’s comment. He thinks about Levi and his sculpted features, about Armin and his cute face, about Jean and his aristocratic appeal, about Marco and his strong jaw, about all the attractive men in his life and there’s nothing. Nothing that screams ‘sex’ or ‘marriage material’. Just an acknowledgement that there are a lot of pretty people out there. Eren knows he has the tendencies to cuddle, to want closeness, but it never went beyond that, nor has he wanted it to.

“No. Not even with men.” Eren concludes. He turns back around with a pile of papers he can’t read (they’re all in Hindu he thinks). “Can I get a translator who won’t leave in the middle of something? And someone who can write English, or German?”

“I can.” Annie walks in and grabs a few papers to read them. “I can copy these into English if you want.”

“Yes, thank you.” Eren doesn’t show his disappointment in going back to English. He doesn’t tell Annie English is his third language and that reading it hurts his head; but it’s nice to have someone with a familiar aura around, even if it’s more hostile than he’s used to.

* * *

 

“Guard your front. Keep light on your toes.” Annie instructs as she sends a hard kick to Eren. He manages to block with his arm.

“I know, I know.” Eren dances away from Annie’s next attack.

They’re outside on the quarter deck. After a few days of awkward conversation and Annie helping Eren figure out the whole ‘doctor’ business (Eren really didn’t feel comfortable being called a doctor, with so little knowledge and even less experience) she decided to teach him some of her moves. Declaring that he was pretty good and could be great if he had proper guidance. Eren declined of course, but after a week of staring at vagina (he honestly had little to no knowledge of the female workings, he hardly knew how a penis worked) he gave in to Annie’s teachings.

They’ve attracted a small crowd. Eren never cared for audiences, nor does he care for the snorts and sneers sent his way. It irritates him that they say he’s fucking Annie. Still that name jumps out at him. Where had he heard that name? Someone he knows have said her name, but he can’t remember for the life of him who.

It’s not till later that night in the midst of some party (is it someone’s birthday? Did someone die? He doesn’t know) he finally remembers who talked about Annie to him.

Eren stumbles over to her, she’s sitting on a bench the party goers had put up everywhere leaning on the railing sipping a bottle of rum. He’s doing the same. He falls into the bench bumping into her, “Sorry.” And takes another sip. He’s not drunk, a little tipsy maybe.

“You’re Reiner’s little sister aren’t you? He talks about you a lot.” He says finally able to open his mouth.

“Half. But I suppose so. Reiner can’t learn to keep his big mouth shut.” She says. Annie puts the bottle down.

Lewd moaning interrupts their awkward silence and they both turn to watch a couple tear each other’s clothes open and start the mating ritual.

“What’s so great about it?” Eren wonders out loud pointing to the two lovers who are now rubbing and sucking face. “Look how exhausting that looks.”

“There’s so much spit.” Annie comments. “They’re filthy.”

“Yeah. I don’t understand the appeal.” Eren leans back banging his head on the rail wishing the couple would go find a dark corner instead of in the middle of everything.

A pleasured cry comes from the opposite direction. They slip their gazes to that couple. The couple is already doing something with their genitals.

“I think we’re the only ones not in the orgy.” Annie takes a sip of Eren’s bottle being that hers rolled away.

“We should have sex.” “Let’s have sex.” “I mean, with how much people like it, maybe we just need to try it ou- wait what?” Eren rambles only to realize Annie agrees.

“Let’s find out what’s so great about sex.” Annie shrugs standing.

“Okay, but where, I mean not out here that’s ridi-”

“My room.” Annie interrupts grabbing Eren’s arm as she walks away.

Annie’s room is messy, both beds are unmade and there’s dresses littering the floor. Eren’s sure they’re not Annie’s she doesn’t seem the dress type to him. _Does she have a roommate?_

“My roommate, Hitch, probably joined the orgy.” She says. She takes off her shirt, kicks her shoes off, and shimmies out of her pants.

“Oh. Right.” Eren does the same. “I don’t know if I’ll get hard… I usually just wake up with one. Never tried to have one before.” He admits sitting on her bed. “What if you get pregnant?”

“I won’t. I take a tea to prevent such a thing. Most of the woman here do. I do it because it helps with my cycle.” Annie explains. She doesn’t add that there is a real fear of rape here on the high seas.

Eren nods, he knows how to have sex, he knows where what goes and how to prepare, but it’s different reading and hearing about it than actually doing it. He wipes his sweaty palms on his bare thighs. _How are we going to start this_?

“Kissing.” Annie blurts. “It’s how it starts right?”

“Yeah.”

Without preamble, lips meet tentatively. Eren doesn’t think it’s so bad, not as gross as everyone makes it out to look. There’s no excess saliva or weird sounds being made. The kiss deepens and they end up laying on the bed, Eren isn’t really aroused and he can feel Annie trying to like it.

“This isn’t working, not really.” Annie mutters.

“Okay, how ‘bout.” Eren snakes his hand down to cup her breasts. They’re actually pretty big, bigger than he originally thought. He moves his thumbs across her nipples like he’s seen Marco do to Jean once (not his favorite memory of walking in on them while Jean blowing Marco). Annie inhales sharply, almost a gasp. “Good?”

“I guess. Try down here.” She grabs a hand and places it near her clit.

“Alright.” Eren gently circles the area with his fingers. She gasps loudly this time.

“Better.” She moans. Annie pulls Eren up so she can reach his half-hardness. Eren jumps at the contact, it feels better than he expected as Annie strokes in a strong firm grip. “Good?”

“Ye-yes.” Eren leans down to kiss her, maybe now there’s stimulation on both parts kissing will appeal more? “You’re getting really wet.” He comments after a few minutes of playing, his hand is starting to cramp.

“So are you.” She says with the same dilemma.

“You think you’re ready?” Eren asks, he wants to get this over with. The room is starting to smell funny and the sweat they’ve produced has made them both sticky. In short, he’s uncomfortable.

“I have oil to be sure.”

“M’kay.”

Annie sits up, both glad for some space, and reaches for the vial. She dips some on her hand and rubs it around her entrance. Eren pours some onto his hand and lubes his erection.

“I hear that it hurts sometimes for first timers?” he questions wiping his hands on the sheet and resituating himself over her.

“I’ve heard it’s not supposed to.” Annie shoots back.

Eren nods and presses in, watching Annie’s face in case it does hurt for her. It feels pleasant for him, but so does taking care of it himself. Annie doesn’t show any signs of pain or discomfort. She seems a little confused.

“Feels strange.” She finally comments after he’s seated himself fully and lays in wait for her signal to move. He’s in no real hurry, it does feel weird. It’s warm and wet and it moves a little when she moves. “It’s all stretched… I don’t know how to explain it. It doesn’t hurt.” She says at Eren’s look of concern. “It’s pleasant I suppose.”

Eren nods and starts a rhythm that feels right. He’s glad sex is mostly instinctual, because he’s not telling his hips to move, nor is he telling his arms to wrap around her shoulders. Annie wraps her thick thighs around his waist. She cards her fingers through his hair, it gets them both moaning. They’ve lost track of time, Eren’s found her clit again.

By the time either of them is close to finishing, Eren’s thighs have cramps. He’s sure Annie’s thighs hurt from being spread so long. _How long has it been? Does it usually take this long_?

He feels it, that weird sensation of orgasming. The heat in his veins and the gross after math. Eren grunts, he hopes Annie understands that he’s about to blow. She grunts back angling her hips upward. Her walls clench suddenly and it surprises Eren enough that he yelps as he cums.

They stay locked in their respective positions for a few minutes before Annie tosses him off.

Eren’s breathing goes back to normal. He feels good, muscles are loose, he doesn’t feel so tense, and he’s exhausted. He frowns though, how long did that take? An hour? More? Less? Annie is frowning to. Did she finish? He wrinkles his nose at the smell, he hates it. He’s sticky with fluids and uncomfortable in his own skin. Sex was terrible he concludes.

“That was fucking awful.” Annie growls.

“Oh, thank god you thought so too.” Eren sighs in relief. “You finished right?”

Annie grunts a nod.

“All that work for such little pay off.” She sighs sitting up. Her nose scrunches.

“It really wasn’t worth it. Why are people so obsessed with this? I feel like shit now.” Eren complains. He stands to put on pants. “I’m taking a bath.”

“Same.” Annie grabs a night shirt and throws it on.

* * *

 

It’s been a week since the party. Nothing has change between them, not really. Annie still translates for him and Eren still sorta trains with her. (He won’t admit that under her tutelage he’s gotten better in hand to hand combat). Neither have felt the need to be closer to one another, nor have they the need to go separate ways.

At least the strange medical visits have stopped. (Eren tells Annie one night that he’s probably seen more vagina than a Babylonian whore).

“You know, you’re lucky Jean has good aim.” Eren tells Ymir. He’s probing the wound, examining it closely to make sure no foreign substances have gotten in.

“Good aim? The fuck that’s supposed to mean? He missed my heart!” she guffaws. Krista makes a strangled noise.

“If Jean wanted to kill you, he would have.” Eren keeps his mouth shut that Jean’s hands were shaking pretty bad, and that he probably did miss.

“He killed some of my men!”

“So have you.” Krista adds. She’s in the corner reading a book. Ymir opens her mouth to say something but a voice stops her.

“My Lady!” a female voice shouts from the speaking tube, “A scouting ship has spotted Master Bodt’s ship.”

Ymir bats Eren away and leans down to speak in the tube. “Pursue as usual.”

Eren’s heart skips a beat. Finally!

“Don’t look too happy, you won’t be leaving till Marco gives me the money he owes me. Try and leave and we’ll blow that ship to splinters and everyone on it, got it?” Ymir threatens.

“We made a deal with Marco many years ago. He’s a good boy, he’ll follow orders. We were early Ymir, he’s injured, and that mutiny to boot! Give Marco some slack, when was the last time he did us wring?” Krista clasps Ymir’s hands and swings them a little. Eren’s not sure he should hearing this mushy stuff.

“Marco’s never done us wrong.”

“Exactly.” Krista smiles brightly. She let’s go of Ymir’s hands and floats out of the room.

“Finish up.” Ymir growls. Her freckled cheeks are red with embarrassment.

Eren snorts, but does as he’s told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how was the 'sex scene'???
> 
> awful and uncomfortable???? it was supposed to be.
> 
> Come drop me some asks on tumblr (menstralcycling)

**Author's Note:**

> so how was it? be honest.


End file.
